The Division: First Wave
by Reach Comedy Network
Summary: Mike Westbrook is a First Wave Division agent, sent to New York after the outbreak of the Dollar Flu and the downfall of society in the city. Along with other First Wave agents, he is declared missing, and almost certainly dead. But there's one thing the Joint Task Force and the outside don't know: he isn't.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN TOM CLANCY'S THE DIVISION. THAT RIGHT BELONGS TO UBISOFT. EVERYTHING MENTIONED IN THIS STORY IS FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY.**

* * *

My chest, back and face ached with pain as I curled in a ball at the back of my cell, trying to rest in the least painful position. Around me, there were shouts of defiance, anger, then pain. Ultimately, anyone who chose to scram or yell in any act against our captors would simply endure more pain. They would be beaten, starved, and a couple had even been shot and stabbed in non-lethal areas. Above the noise, you could still hear the guards patrolling past each cell, and when they passed, an evil grin would show on their faces when you showed that you'd lost. The Last Man Battalion. Rikers Island's new resident prison guards. After the Rikers left, not wanting to stay here if they could get out, the LMB had taken it over, keeping their own prisoners here instead. Inside, well, that was the problem. It was the First Wave. At least three of the original were killed-either by a rogue agent or one of the other factions-and a few had gone rogue-bastards-but, despite that, _thirty-eight_ First Wave agents had been taken captive by the leader of the Rogues, whoever that was, and the LMB. They knew that if a cure was found, however unlikely, the US military and CERA would have stormed the city and killed all of them, so they took hostages instead. That way, they couldn't take back the Rikers Island without effectively killing all of their own people.

"Mikey," My cell mate reached over and poked me in the shin.

I groaned, and looked over at her. "Yeah?"

She gave me a weak smile. "I think I have an idea." She said, tying her long, dirty blonde hair into a bun.

I sat up, but immediately shrunk back into a ball when my ribs screamed in protest. "What? What is it?"

She looked out of the cell through the iron bars, staring at the large clock mounted on the opposite wall, and I followed her gaze. 11:45. The guards had been letting us out into the open area outside every day at noon sharp since I'd been thrown in here, four days ago. Today would most likely be no different.

"The water." She said, as if that would explain it.

"What?"

"If someone was to swim from the lunch area, they could reach the Coast Guard patrol boats. They could get off the island."

"Anna," I said, "That would never work."

Anna Roche was a Division agent, specialising in medical. With 29 years of age, she had graduated medical school from the military, and worked as an EMT as soon as her contract was up. Two months after that, the Strategic Homeland Division approached her, offering her a job.

"Why not?" She asked.

"First of all; that water is nearly freezing, and second; never mind the water you gotta survive the drop down first. It's gotta be near fifty feet." I answered.

"That's why I'm telling you; I know you can do it. No one else in here would be able to. You've been in here the least amount of time, therefore would be the strongest and healthiest of all of us. On top of that, being from Anchorage I thought you would have been used to cold water."

"For short periods of time, yes. But to swim that far would be suicide. You couldn't survive immersion in that water for that long. You'd freeze to death."

"Look. I'd tell you it doesn't matter and that you don't have to do it, but it does. You're our only hope at getting out of here and taking the city back. You need to. It's your choice, of course, but you're the only one who can. You have fifteen minutes to decide."

The way she looked at me gave me only one choice: I'd do it. I was going to find a way to safely jump fifty feet into cold water, then swim to a boat five hundred feet away, and drive it back to the mainland. All that without being spotted. Fuck, that's going to be difficult.


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN TOM CLANCY'S THE DIVISION. THAT RIGHT BELONGS TO UBISOFT. EVERYTHING MENTIONED IN THIS STORY IS FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY.**  
Enjoy!  
-Jake

* * *

12:00.

Noon. Our captors would be letting us out into the outdoor gym and lunch area, where we would be eating food that was warm when we were served at the door leading outside, then forced to eat it in the near-frozen temperatures. If you wanted your food relatively warm, you ate it quick.

The doors were unlocked from an automatic switch in the control room once the guards were safe. We all slowly shuffled from our cells, down a set of stairs, and to a serving line. Along with the First Wave, JTF and CERA personnel that the LMB captured were also kept at Rikers, so the line was quite long by the time Anna and I got there. We were served half an MRE-meal, ready to eat-each, and followed the others outside. The cold immediately hit us, and no one was allowed to keep anything to keep themselves warm. Only a thin orange jacket, t-shirt and cargo pants kept the cold at bay, and they didn't do a very good job of it.

"So how do you wanna do this?" I whispered to Anna once we had our meals and were standing outside.

Anna slowly walked around the area of the small plaza-like area, me in tow. We walked along the barbed wire siding, under watchtowers filled with armed LMB soldiers, until we reached the unguarded drop off to the water below. "We stage a fight." She finally answered. "We pretend to get into an argument, and I push you off the side."

"What?!" I said, incredulous.

"Yeah, I know. But it's the only way that would work without the guards becoming suspicious."

I took a deep breath, leaning over the edge and looking at the wave tops fifty feet below. I gulped. "Alright. Fine. When do we start?"

"Now." She answered.

It took me less than a second to understand what she meant, but in that time she'd punched me hard in the spine. "Watch it, asshole!" She yelled.

After my initial confusion, I snapped into it. "What, am I not supposed to be here? It's not like I have a choice!" I retorted, and gave a half effort at kicking her shin, not wanting to hurt her. Knowing it was a staged fight, she didn't dodge it, and after my sneaker connected with her leg, she balled her hand into a fist and backhanded me across the face, having to reach up since I was a head taller than her. Still, she landed a pretty good blow, knocking me sideways. At that moment, two things happened that we didn't account for: the guards, and the ice. When Anna hit me, I staggered backward, and the soles of my sneakers lost their traction when I stepped onto a patch of black ice. I slipped towards the edge as the second aspect came into play. Two of the Last Man Battalion guards raised their rifles, and fired.

"Oh shit-ARRGGHH, FUCK!" I screamed as the bullet tore through my right shoulder, blood spurting out of the wound and splashing Anna's face.

The second round hit her at the top of her back, pushing her to the edge and toppling her over after me. Thinking quickly, instead of screaming we both stayed quiet, and for two good reasons. One: the guards would think it was a killing shot, think we were dead, and wouldn't question it if we didn't resurface. And two: we held our breath for the dive.

Despite my efforts, when I hit the water a lot of the air I'd held in my lungs was knocked out in a gush by the drop. I knew Anna would've had it even worse. Thankfully, the water pulled me from the shock of the bullet. We plunged ten feet under the surface and into the darkness of the sea. I had dropped close to the wall, and I grabbed Anna's arm and swam using only one hand I swam to the rock surface.

I could hold my breath for about two minutes with full lungs, so therefore, pessimistically, I could hold my breath for another forty-five seconds before I'd have to surface for air. Keeping my left hand brushing against the wall the entire time, I swam with Anna about sixty yards until my lungs ran dry.

Slowly and carefully, I breached the surface, pulling her with me. She quietly gasped for air, our dark blood stains slowly spreading in the water around us. By now, four guards were at the edge of the wall, two holding back the crowd of onlookers, two peering into the water, trying to spot a body. I breathed in deep, held Anna's hand and dived back down, and swam another forty yards, before surfacing again. The guards gave up, but by now Anna was struggling in the cold water, losing blood and energy.

Realizing that hypothermia would quickly set in, I set a strong pace with Anna to the Coast Guard boat, which sat two hundred and fifty feet away. Two hundred and fifty feet straight, though. To actually get there safely we would have to swim along the wall, then under the dock the boat was tied to. It was closer to five hundred feet.

Still, I kept going, slowly getting colder and colder. By the time we got to the dock, we were shaking uncontrollably, then at the halfway point Anna slowly lost consciousness and I was ready to follow.

"Fuck." I quietly cursed, wrapped an arm around her body, and kept clawing my way through the water, the boat still agonizingly far. The blood from our gunshot wounds hadn't stopped running, and I was close to losing half of my blood supply to the cold waters. My head started spinning, the pain of moving from cracked ribs, a gunshot wound, and the bitter cold was about to kill me.

I pressed on.

By some stroke of luck, the river's current pushed us towards the boat. I reached up and grasped the rope holding it to the dock. I shoved Anna onto the boat's rear deck slowly pulled myself from the water, and onto the metal. By another stroke of pure luck, another lot of snow set in, and the LMB guards wouldn't be able to see the boat leave the docks.

Without stopping for a rest, I dragged Anna toward the boat's enclosed cabin. The thirty foot cruiser's keys were still in the ignition and the dashboard showed plenty of fuel and battery life. I wasn't even religious, but if there was anyone above me, I thanked them. A dive knife sat on a small table in a sheath. I took it, and quietly walked back out into the snow. The wind was howling now, and the guards wouldn't hear the boat's engine.

We might make it out of here, I thought to myself.

I used the dive knife to cut the ropes holding the boat, and it began drifting away in the current. I went back into the cabin and closed the door, struggling to turn the heater on with shaking hands. I got it working, a hot breath from the vents blowing into my face. I quickly plopped myself at the boat's steering wheel, started the heavily muffled motor, and set the GPS for a set of docks under Brooklyn Bridge. The boat had an on board computerized navigation system that plotted and followed routes on its own without guidance, so I set the speed, and left the helm in search of medical supplies.

Thank God the LMB hadn't raided the boat yet. I found a small first aid kit in a cabinet and while sitting in front of one of the heater's vents, threaded stitches around the small hole in Anna's back, and wrapped my arm and shoulder in dressings and gauze. I knew she hadn't passed out from water in her lungs, more likely from the shock of the water and the blood loss. Although, after examining the injury, she hadn't appeared to lose as much blood as me. I stripped out of my sopping wet clothes, and found a few fresh uniforms in the bunks in front and below the helm. I changed, and stripped Anna's jacket off of her and wrapped her in the new uniform. I returned to the comfort of the driver's seat. I checked the GPS, and upon seeing that I had an hour to go at the speed I'd set, I moved Anna down to bunks below. Exhausted and in pain, I wrapped each of us in blankets and fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN TOM CLANCY'S THE DIVISION. THAT RIGHT BELONGS TO UBISOFT. EVERYTHING MENTIONED IN THIS STORY IS FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY.

Enjoy!

-Jake

* * *

"Hey, look! There's a Coast Guard boat wedged under dock."

A group of civilians had gone to the houses and apartments under the Brooklyn bridge to look for supplies, and had spotted the craft with its bow wedged under the concrete pier.

"Wasn't there yesterday." Their leader noted. "Let's check it out."

From the building they were in, they made their way across the two lane street dividing the housing from the docks and river. The concrete and steel structure perched over the river was littered with trash, and a more than a couple mooring lines had snapped, other fishing and speed boats floating away and pushing against each other. Quickly making their way through it, they reached the stranded Coast Guard patrol boat in less than two minutes. One of them, a woman of about thirty years hopped onto the boat's gunwale while the others stood guard. She climbed down and into the cabin, rummaging through the cabinets and finding a few flares, a flare gun and whatever was left in the first aid kit, all of which she passed to her people on the dock.

"That's all there is up here," She called.

"Check the bunks." The leader replied.

The woman ducked down again, this time it was for less than thirty seconds. "Hey! There's someone down here!"

"What?"

"Wrapped in blankets on the bunks, they're wearing coast guard uniforms."

"Are they alive?" The leader asked, stepping aboard. He followed the woman down to the bunks below the deck. Mine and Anna's unconscious forms were curled up in one corner.

"What do we do with them?" The woman asked.

At the sound of voices, I stirred, but only getting the chance to move my head slightly before again passing out from blood loss.

"Something's wrong. He just woke up but fell out again. Get them out of the blankets." He ordered, then returned topside. "We got live people here, two of you come help."

As the woman peeled away a couple of the blankets, blood stains began to show on the cloth near my chest. When the second last blanket came off, the last one was soaked in blood. Hesitantly, she pulled it off, showing the extent of the wound. She gasped. The bullet hole itself was relatively small, but a lot of blood had soaked through while I'd been unconscious.

"We need to get them out of here." The leader said as the other two men came down the steep stairs to the bunk room. They didn't wait, but upon seeing the injury they carefully lifted Anna and I to our feet and carried us to the bow of the boat. They laid Anna on the deck and one hopped onto the dock and the other passed us down.

Still standing, I started to regain my thoughts, the first being that I was in incredible pain. I looked around, dazed, realising that the boat's GPS had correctly sent me to Brooklyn bridge. I looked at Anna as she regained consciousness.

"Whhh… where am I?" She mumbled.

"Safe. Don't worry." The man holding her said. I slowly and carefully stepped forward and out from the arms of the two men, trying to maintain my balance while my head spun. I fell back again almost immediately. One caught me. "Thanks." I muttered.

"Don't sweat it." The one who caught me replied.

"Or bleed it." The other pointed out.

I slowly remembered why I was here in the first place. The Division, my friends, were still being held captive at Rikers. "We need to get to the JTF."

"Good luck with that." The leader said from behind me.

I turned around, meeting his gaze. He was older than I was, probably about fifty, but a hair shorter than me.

His brown eyes met my blue ones with a calm glance, before looking around at the trashed dock. "The JTF got pushed back to the west side of the island. There's only a few patrols and a safe house left here, but they tend to stay as quiet as possible. They're outnumbered, and don't wanna lose any more people. This area's mostly run by rioters and cleaners."

Speaking of which…

"Well, well. Look what we have here." A condescending voice said. Four men emerged from behind docked fishing boats, all holding semi automatic pistols. Rioters. The group that saved me didn't even have time to draw their own weapons.

"A group of Good Samaritans saving the poor people from a terrible death. Too bad it was for nothing. Hands up." The voice revealed itself to be one of the rioters, quite obviously the leader.

The two men holding us up slowly put us down, and raised their hands along with the other three members of their group.

I managed to snag one man's gun when he turned. I hid it behind his legs and checked it over. A new Glock pistol, quite possibly looted. I didn't care at this point.

"Military boy, show your hands." The rioter demanded.

I stuck one hand in the air.

"Both of them, dumbass."

I glanced at Anna, who spotted the gun in my hand and nodded. I slowly raised the other, the pistol dangling from my index finger. I kept the gun just above my chest.

"Drop the gun!" He cautioned.

I slowly lowered it towards my chest, then before they could even register what happened, I flipped the gun, took aim and fired three times. Three hits. Three of the rioters went down in rapid succession. I twisted to the side to shoot the leader, but he managed to get a shot off before I hit him between the eyes. I flinched. For the second time in twenty-four hours I'd been shot. The bullet passed through my shin, causing a spurt of blood to shoot out.

The civilian leader finally reacted. "Holy shit, was that you?" He asked me.

"Yup." I answered, passing the man his gun.

He holstered it, and helped me back up. "Bloody good shot." He commented.

"Thanks," I said, sucking air through my teeth when I accidentally put weight on the now-bad leg. "I was a sniper with the SEALs before the Coast Guard."

"Never mind that," The leader said, "We'll get you to the safe house. We got two cars just at the road. We'll drive there."

The two men were now virtually carrying me and the woman supported Anna to the red Toyota pickup and green sedan waiting on the road. The leader hopped into the dual cab's driver's seat, the woman in the front, and the two men carefully put Anna and I into the back seat. The two men hopped into the sedan parked behind.

I yelped in pain when my leg brushed the seat in front.

The truck started, and the well-practiced driver started down the trash-littered street. "I'm Tom, by the way." He said, looking at me in the rear view mirror

"Mike." I replied, nodding to him when our eyes met. "This is Anna."

"This is Sarah, and the two in the sedan are Jordan and Zach. My daughter and sons." He told me.

I tried to stop the blood flow with a piece of fabric I had torn from the uniform I wore. "Not to be rude or anything, but how far is it to the safe house?" I asked.

"Two, three minutes." Jordan replied.

"Do they have a radio?"

"Yeah, why?" Sarah asked.

"Have you guys heard of the Division yet?"

"Of course. Everyone around here has. No one has actually seen them, but the JTF has, and they've been spreading rumours like crazy."

"Good or bad?"

"Very good. They say they're a bunch of badasses. Although, not long ago they did announce that all of the first Division guys sent had been declared MIA, and they've started to just unofficially declare them dead. So now we don't talk about them that much. Why do you ask?"

"Because not all of them are dead."

He gave me a curious look in the mirror. "What do you mean?"

"Actually, most of them are alive." Anna told him.

His eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. We need a radio, ASAP."

Tom sped up, reaching the safe house quicker than expected. The pickup screeched to a stop outside, and Jordan and Zach helped me out while Sarah ran inside to get a medic. She came back out with a doctor, who had Jordan and Zach lower me to the sidewalk. The doctor cut off my pant leg at the knee, examined the injury, and decided to wipe it clean with sterile gauze, and threaded stitches into the skin around it. He then turned my leg onto its side and did the same at the exit wound. After the stitches were in he taped a dressing around my leg and told me to keep as much weight off it as possible, then tended to Anna's back. By now she was wide awake and in a lot of pain. He gave her a shot of local anesthetic before heading back inside.

A JTF officer stood with a group of the safe house's guards. I waved him over.

"Are you guys alright?" He asked, seeing my leg, shoulder, and Anna's back.

"Fine, thanks. Do you have a radio?" I asked.

"Yeah. You with JTF?"

"Strategic Homeland Division. First Wave, Mike Westbrook, callsign Nightfall." I told him, then motioned to Anna, "First Wave, Anna Roche, callsign Striker."

He forked his radio over without any other questions.

Another guard ran from the safe house to the officer, and whispered into his ear.

The officer turned to me with a grave look. "If you're going to try to contact your commander, you might have some trouble. His bird's just been shot down."

* * *

A/N

Thanks to Andrei Rian for the follow and fav! I'll try and post updates somewhat kind of regularly. Somewhat. Right now I've got like three chapters nearly ready to post, but then it might be quiet for a while. I probably won't add author's notes to too many either, so you might not hear from me for a while. Anyway, thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN TOM CLANCY'S THE DIVISION. THAT RIGHT BELONGS TO UBISOFT. EVERYTHING MENTIONED IN THIS STORY IS FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY.

Enjoy!

-Jake

Division agents Faye Lau and Davis Lee were flown in a JTF acquired civilian helicopter from the burning Osprey helicopter that held their commander. Davis was knocked out by the blast, while Faye's face had been cut and her leg badly hurt. While the helicopter flew towards Camp Hudson, Lau tried to wake her half-unconscious partner. He stirred a few times before falling a deep sleep again. She opened a first aid kit, took a syringe full of adrenaline, and stabbed it into his thigh. He woke in ten seconds.

"Shit. That explosion took out the-" She was cut off by the pilot.

"Radio transmission coming in. For you." He said.

The two agents each took headsets from racks mounted to the seats.

"Lau." She said by way of greeting.

"This is First Wave Division agent Mike Westbrook. I'm at the safe house in Stuyvesant with First Wave agent Anna Roche and have information regarding the First Wave." I answered.

"Mike?" Davis said.

"Davis?"

"Brooksie!"

"Davey! What happened? A JTF guy just told me the commander's chopper was shot down."

"Well the JTF is well informed. It blew up as Faye and I were about to board it. Someone got a hold of antiaircraft weapons. Most of the second wave got wiped out." Davis explained.

"Wait, most? Who's left?"

"We are." Faye answered. "Us four are all that's left."

"About that," I started, then stopped myself. "Actually, I won't say anything over the radio. I'll meet you at Camp Hudson."

"I'll send the chopper back to pick you up so you don't have to walk." Davis said, and told the pilot. "Stuyvesant, right?"

"Yeah, the Ward is what they're calling the safe house. Are you guys alright?"

"Davis is the luckier of us." Faye answered. "I ended up with a broken leg. I won't make it out into the field, so I'll handle JTF and Division unit coordination."

"I only got knocked out." Davis said. "What happened to you?"

"I got shot. Twice."

" _Twice?_ What the hell happened?"

"The first was LMB, the second was a rioter. LMB got to Anna as well. Shot in the back."

"I thought the LMB was with the JTF."

"They were, until they decided they didn't like us anymore."

"Shit. This is bad."

"No shit. I'll see you soon." I said, ended the call, and handed the radio back to the JTF officer.

Back in the helicopter, Faye and Davis stared out the open doorway for a minute, then looked at each other.

"What do you think he has?" Faye asked.

"Probably body locations. If it's worse than what we saw in Brooklyn there's no way the First Wave could have survived it all. I heard from a civilian about a group called the Cleaners that walk the streets with flamethrowers, burning everything they think is infected, including people that are still alive, and not even infected."

"What? Why?"

"Their reasoning is that they think the only way to get rid of the disease is to burn it out."

She groaned. "This is bad."

"Yeah."

The pilot shifted in his seat, and told them they were approaching Camp Hudson. Davis and Faye both looked out at the city again. What they saw took their breath away. Fires raged throughout the city, buildings were torn to the ground and battered and broken vehicles littered the streets. Ironically, Christmas decorations could still be seen, showing off bright and happy colours. On a skyscraper near the river the helicopter flew over hung a banner made out of sheets sewn together that red _HELP US._

"Dear God." Faye muttered, her eyes locked to the city that she grew up in.

The helo swooped low and slow, approaching a marked landing site at Hudson yards. Two JTF medics waited to the side. The pilot came down with a neat and tidy landing, and Davis threw open the side door.

"Who's in charge here?" Faye asked one of the medics, having to shout to be heard over the helicopter's turbines.

"Captain Benitez was running an op from the post office but we lost contact with him. If he's not back soon there's talk of pulling out." The medic answered.

"No one's pulling out, we're taking the city back." She told him with confidence oozing out of her words. She turned to Davis. "Get what gear you need and head over there."

"Good luck out there, you'll need it!" The medic called as Davis left. The helicopter rose off its landing site and flew east towards Stuyvesant.

"Uh, hi. Is this Davis Lee?" A female voice said through his radio.

"It is," He answered, "Who's asking?"

"Agent Roche, I'm the agent that came in with Mike."

"Ah. I'm guessing this is a personal call otherwise you probably would've gotten to the point by now."

"It is. I was wondering if you could tell me anything more about Mike. Obviously not classified stuff, but… you know, personal things." She said, embarrassed with herself.

"Well, for a start, dude's one hell of a guitar player. The way I know him is I was in a band with him in college. I was on drums, he was the lead guitarist and singer. He has a daughter-about thirteen, I think-whose mother died at birth. Sadly, he never fully recovered. He's had a few girlfriends since, but none stuck for more than six months. He just stuck himself in his job, and then taking care of his only child, he never really had time for anything."

"What _did_ he do for a living?"

"NYPD detective. And a good one at that. I catch up with him regularly, and he fills me in on everything. In one year he caught thirty-six killers, most of whom had killed more than once."

"Damn."

"Got that right. Now, I'm gonna guess at the main reason you called me. You wanna know if he's single."

"That depends on the answer."

"The answer is yes, he is still single."

"Yes! Thanks Davis, I owe you one."

"It's Davey to friends, and you can buy me a beer when you two get back to base."

She laughed. "Sounds good. Striker out."

"Copy, out."

The radio went silent, and agent Lee continued on his way to the base of operations.

Back in Stuyvesant, Anna gave the radio she'd borrowed back to the JTF officer, and waited with me for the helicopter to arrive. Ten minutes went past before we heard its rotors beating the roof. We climbed a set of stairs, and emerged onto a tar and gravel covered roof, the chopper waiting with its door open. We boarded quickly, and the helo took off, skirting the Dark Zone on its way to Hudson Yards.


End file.
